


Reruns and Reverb

by rivlee



Category: Spartacus Series (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, M/M, Prompt Fill, Spartacus Reverse Big Bang
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-16
Updated: 2013-09-16
Packaged: 2017-12-26 18:51:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/969080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rivlee/pseuds/rivlee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The only reason Nasir hasn’t killed Duro for his meddling ways yet, is because he kind of loves the jackass.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reruns and Reverb

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by Gahika’s prompt for the Spartacus Reverse Big Bang, which you can view [here](http://sparty-reverse.livejournal.com/2788.html) at #7. Special thanks to gaygreekgladiator for being my grammar savior. Any remaining mistakes are my own.

“Put your pants on. We’ve got to go do a thing in a place.”

Nasir groaned and tried to bury his head under his pillow to block out the demanding tones of his roommate. “Fuck off,” he yelled at Duro, or at least tried to although his voice came out muffled, as he desperately kept his eyes closed.

“Nasir, bro, come the fuck on. I can promise you you’ll love this.”

The last time Duro had said that Nasir wound up with his ear pierced by a Hello Kitty pink stud and a truly horrific orange dye job to his hair. Chadara still showed the pictures to anybody willing. Of course, the last time he tried to resist one of Duro’s schemes, he’d ended up baring his ass to a van full of nuns anyway, so really, he knew this was a Catch-22 from the Ninth Circle of Hell. Nasir took a deep breath and forced himself to roll over. 

“Is it illegal?” he asked.

“What kind of question is that?” Duro responded. He leaned over Nasir with a wide grin, the sunlight glinting off the silver hoops in his nose and bottom lip. “Would I ever do such a thing to you?”

Nasir grabbed the first thing he could reach and lobbed it at Duro’s head. “The first day we met, I had to patiently explain to our RA that the shaving cream can explosion was a total freak accident so we wouldn’t be booted out of college and our dorm before classes even started.”

Duro narrowed his eyes. “It was an accident, for the last goddamned time.” He held a hand out. “Now get your ass up.”

Somewhere along the rocky road of his life, Nasir had found he couldn’t live without the staus quo and comfort that came with knowing Duro. They were roommates as freshmen by chance, ended up becoming best friends, and now years after the days of Ramen, Easy Mac, and begging for quarters so they could do laundry were behind them, Nasir still thanked whichever higher power listened to his prayers for throwing them together. 

Nasir’s eyes lingered on the nautical star tattoo on Duro’s hand, right below his left thumb. Duro had gotten it done in memory of his parents, both Marines, both killed in action, both heroes that no one would remember by name outside of a list of KIA and their family line. When Nasir’s parents went, mere months apart from each other, Duro was the one who told him about what nautical stars could mean, how they could be their own compass. He was the one who introduced Nasir to his favorite tattoo artist, an old man with kind eyes and a body covered in art by the name of Titus. He was the one who sat at Nasir’s side and held his free hand as Nasir got his own nautical star, a red and black star to guide him home. He was the little brother, just like Nasir. Determined to make his own life, just like Nasir. Had taken on the hardships of life independent of the built in family and community support group, moving from the west coast to the east, just like Nasir. When Nasir had the bad luck and stupidity to fall for Duro’s older brother Agron, knowing Agron was only there temporarily, worked for a band, and was never in one place for longer than a show, Duro took Nasir’s side in all the post-hook-up discussions. 

The least fucking thing Nasir could do was get out of bed for him and one of his harebrained schemes.

“You’re making me coffee,” Nasir warned.

“Already have it brewing,” Duro promised.

 

**************************

Duro was ridiculously proud of _Nasir_ ’s car, and took every opportunity to drive the 2005 Mustang and live out his _Fast & Furious_ dreams. Nasir learned long ago life was about losing the small battles to win the war, so he shut up, handed over his keys, drank his coffee, and didn’t really pay attention until they were outside of the city limits. It was only when he started to take note of the people in the cars around them, what they were wearing, what they might have packed in their backseats, what kind of bumper stickers they used to proclaim their fandoms and philosophies, that it clicked.

“I’m going to kill you in your sleep,” he calmly informed Duro as they took an exit.

“I’ve locked away all the sharp knives and you know how I get off on auto-erotic asphyxiation, so you’ll only have your own self to blame if you go there.” Duro shot him a quick grin before returning his eyes to the road. “You can thank me for this later.”

“You could mind your own fucking business for once,” Nasir grumbled.

“Not possible. You fucked my brother. Or my brother fucked you. I don’t want to know the details, but once you two crossed that line it became my business. Since you two refuse to fix it, or each other, I’m stepping in.”

Nasir didn’t argue, not ready to reopen old wounds, and turned his head to watch the trees fly by. He knew soon they’d take the turn to the long and winding road that led to the fair grounds. He ground his teeth as he anticipated the crunch of loose rocks and gravel under the tires as Duro searched for a parking spot. He steeled himself for the people who’d be walking around with signs and merch for _The Gladiators_ , pop-punk-rock darlings of the past three years, a constant reminder of the man who worked as one of their techs and a decision Nasir made when he was too full of lust and attraction to care. He never was made for one night stands, even if other people clearly had the fortitude for them. He didn’t judge Agron, or anyone, for that then and he still wouldn’t now. He just didn’t like the assumption that they’d made some sort of arrangement. The last time he was here, Nasir had made it crystal clear he wasn’t just any port in a storm. They hadn’t really spoken since, outside of missed calls and awkward e-mails. Agron had been a bit more insistent these past few months, but when Nasir realized the band would be coming by, he gave up hope that Argon ever understood Nasir’s point of it all.

He was a grown-ass man who was looking for something other than temporary. Agron didn’t know how to settle down. It wasn’t a problem that could easily be solved out of sheer force of will, though God knew Duro was probably going to try. 

“What makes you think there’s something to fix?” Nasir asked just to get a rise out of Duro.

Duro almost swerved off the road he was so eager to give Nasir a one fingered salute with flare. “You’re both fucking idiots and are clearly in need of a mutual life coach. I’ve volunteered myself for the position. Auctus agrees with me.”

Auctus was a public defender, which meant he made a life out of trying to fix other people’s shit, so of fucking course, he agreed with Duro. 

“You know, one day we’re going to have a long talk about your need to meddle in the lives of all those around you,” Nasir grumbled.

“I’m sorry; I couldn’t hear you over that hypocrisy, Mr. I Know You Were Having Money Issues So I Paid Your Half of the Rent for the Next Two Months Early Just Because.” Duro grinned. “Thanks for that, by the way. Really saved my ass then.”

Nasir winked at him. “Always got your back, bro.”

“Likewise,” Duro said. “Ooh, perfect spot.”

It was under a tree, which while it meant shade, but also meant Duro was going to pay for Nasir’s carwash after the birds had a crapfest. “You will be getting my car detailed,” he kindly informed him.

Duro snorted. “If the one thing you’re worried the most about after tonight is your car, than I have failed you on so many levels.” 

“At least we’re in agreement,” Nasir muttered. He took a deep breath as he fingers glided over the door handle. A simple flick of his wrist and the door would open. He could do this. It was a basic act he had a lifetime of experience to call on.

Duro made a small sound of distress. “You’re not about to puke, are you? I mean, I have mints on me, but it’s not like I come strapped with a toothbrush and some Colgate. Also, if you puke in your car you’ll ruin it.” 

Nasir rolled his eyes for what felt like the two-hundredth time in a single morning. “I’m not going to puke.” Yet. “It’s just some things are good once, or twice, and then never again. You know I think Happily Ever After is bullshit. Fairy tales always take the cop-out. Even with the ‘miracle’ reunion in real life, the news tends to fail on the five-years-later follow-up. Some things remain precious, if bittersweet, because they are complete. Why should I try to fuck with that?”

Duro took the keys out of the ignition and used each one to emphasize a point. “One: you are clearly dead inside. Two: we both know a thing or two about regret, so don’t make me go there. Three: if you really didn’t want to be here, you would have already attempted that Vulcan Nerve Pinch thing, taken these keys from my hands, and beaten me with them. Four: I sincerely believe you and Agron are past, present, and future. Finally five: if you don’t want to see him, you don’t have to. We can just enjoy the show.”

Nasir opened the door and slipped out. It was pleasantly warm, with a slight breeze and a lack of stifling humidity. His nose itched as he took in the scent of honeysuckle and mowed grass from the field. He could see the stage in the distance, looming large and already bustling with techs. He wondered if Agron was up there already, seeing to Spartacus’ guitars and working with Donar to make sure no one got electrocuted. 

He looked at Duro over the roof of the car. “You’ll be my escape route, just in case?”

Duro’s eyes shined with gentle understanding. He really was like a warm puppy in human form. “Always, Nasir, always.”

Nasir knew it was the truth, that he really didn’t even have to ask, but the confirmation was its own lifeline right now.

He looked around the parking lot, at the groups of people already half-drunk while tailgating, and the lines of fans eager to get past the gate for a good spot on the field and a chance to hear the sound check. 

“You better have a blanket packed,” Nasir said. “If I get grass stains on these jeans, I will actually murder you this time.”

*********************

Nasir was of the belief that hotdogs should only be consumed at family barbeques and baseball games, but Duro’s ideas about good cuisine were downright plebian on the best of days, so this time he took the heartburn on a bun without complaint. At least Duro left off the chili and onions. 

“Those mints better be good,” he said as he took a bite and tried not to recall just what made up a hotdog.

“Altoids, bro. I’m not an amateur.” Duro patted one of the fifteen pockets of his cargo pants and kicked off his flip-flops, digging his toes into the grass. The toenails were painted lavender this time, probably a vindictive move courtesy of Auctus to get Duro to embrace proper footwear. It would never happen, but Nasir remained amused at Auctus’ best efforts to try.

Duro licked the last traces of ketchup off his fingers and stretched his arms upwards. “Fuck, I can’t remember the last time we just relaxed like this.”

“Because nothing says fun like mosquito bites,” Nasir complained. He handed the rest of his half-eaten hotdog to Duro in exchange for the tub of water he’d bought. “If you have bug spray in those pants, I promise to take you on a picnic lunch at least once a week for the next month.”

Duro’s stupidly pleased smile was the only warning he got before a small bottle of _Off!_ was lobbed at his head.

The first act was some guitar and banjo duo who sang with overly exaggerated southern accents.

“Tryhards,” Duro said while Nasir nodded in agreement. 

Someone behind them scoffed and may have started their own sort of tirade if Duro hadn’t straightened up and done a quick flex of the muscles in his arms. The silence behind them was hilarious and Nasir had to press both hands over his mouth to keep in his laughter. Duro never met a piece of restraint he liked other than Auctus’ ties, so he let loose with a full belly laugh. 

“You’re such an asshole,” Nasir said.

Duro shrugged. “Eh, I come by it honestly and have some bad influences sitting right next to me.”

The field was starting to fill up as they got closer and closer to the main event. It was supposed to be a strictly daytime show; no one wanted to be liable for twisted ankles and broken bones as a bunch of drunk, high, or both, music fans tried to navigate the large field that was usually reserved for Renaissance festivals. The next act took the stage, some kind of experimental sort with synthesizers mixed with old improvised instruments like spoons and washboards. 

“Interesting,” Chadara said from next to them. She stood with Kore and another woman Nasir didn’t recognize. A small boy with a headful of blond curls was with them, and he made a beeline for Duro.

Duro easily absorbed the shock of a toddler running at full-tilt. “Janus, look how big you’ve gotten.”

The mystery woman sighed. “Give it ten years and he’ll stand taller than me.” She smiled at Nasir. “You must be the ever-patient roommate of over a decade. I’m Aurelia.” 

She spoke her name as if it was something he should recognize. Nasir remembered his manners and held his hand out. “Duro’s said wonderful things about you.”

Her grip was strong and her eyes knowing as she returned his handshake. “I’m sure he has.” She gave him an once-over before nodding in approval. “I can see it.”

“I’m sorry?” Nasir asked.

Chadara waved him off. “Stop being so fucking paranoid and enjoy the music, Nasir,” she insisted. “Now, use your skills learned at _Bed, Bath, and Beyond_ , and get this blanket down without any wrinkles.”

“Magic word?” he asked.

Chadara sweetly smiled. “Murder.”

Nasir nodded. “Good enough.” He worked fast, not wanting to block anyone’s view if they really were intensely interested by the current bluegrass-meets-EDM-meets-gothrock on the stage.

Not even fifteen minutes later, Kore tapped his shoulder. “Nasir, could you go get us some water? I’d ask Duro, but he’s currently Janus’ playpen and Chadara would take an hour to come back.” She pointed to the ridiculous sandals on her feet. “I didn’t exactly dress properly for today. When Chadara said _concert_ I assumed somewhere indoors. We were running an hour late by that time.”

Nasir patted her hand in commiseration. “I am all too familiar with how it goes. Sure you just want a water? I can get you something to eat.”

She shook her head. “Water would be great.” She tried to hand him a $5 and he pushed it back. 

“Kore, please. You help clean our apartment. For fun.”

“I like a clean space,” she argued. 

Nasir tugged her hair as he stood and weaved his way through the crowd as he tried to find the nearest concession stand that didn’t have a long three mile long. He wrinkled his nose at the overwhelming smell of cheap beer and cigarette smoke, deciding that the nearest stand wasn’t worth it if he actually _did_ end up puking and smelling like the back alley of a dive bar. A walk would be a good thing anyway. 

A whole stand of _The Gladiators_ merch easily brought the things lurking in the back of Nasir’s mind to the forefront. Agron was a part of his life that had the semi-blurred tint of reality like all good memories. Nasir always focused on the positives there, and not the overwhelmingly taunt of What If. What if Nasir had shoved aside his normal ideas of a conventional relationship and embraced the chance of long-distance? 

Nasir knew it was useless to dwell on that last bit of speculation. Even with the fraternal textbook co-dependent relationship that was Agron and Duro, Agron’s visits had been a rare thing long before he hooked up with Nasir. He doubted the extra incentive of sex-with-strings was likely to keep Agron anchored for long, and Nasir wasn’t keen to completely fuck up the _really_ good memory of their time together. 

Nasir didn’t think he could handle once-a-year-maybe if Agron wanted to go there again. The same problems would still be between them, regardless of giving it a second shot or not. He firmly believed what he told Duro, that trying to repeat history usually resulted in more bad than good. He didn’t feel like there were some things unresolved with Agron. He would remain an active part of the touring crew for a band with worldwide popularity, because it was his career and he enjoyed it. 

Nasir was willing to do a lot of things for the sake of a relationship, but uprooting his own life was not on the table. He liked to use his vacation time for places he wanted to visit, not to grab three hours in between shows. He had roots here, deep ones, with a career he enjoyed and that paid well. He had no reason to leave that behind, and honestly no desire to do so. It wasn’t fair to ask the same of Agron either, who had spent his life in various music scenes, and most of his adult life on the road. Compromises were a thing of course, a requirement of relationships, but the major problems didn’t change. 

_“Nasir!”_

Nasir could feel his heart start to pound. There was only one person in the whole goddamned world who pronounced his name like that. Wrongly, of course, but it was one of those things about Agron Nasir didn't mind. 

He turned to find Agron grinning at him, those fucking dimples on full display, as he strode over. He’d cut his hair; gone were the very unfortunate white boy braids for a short style that made Nasir’s fingers itch to touch the bare skin of Agron’s neck. He’d added more holes to his ears in the time since they last met, a new tragus piercing in the collection. He had the shield tattoo on his upper arm completed since then too, and the colorful ink looked so much better than the simple black outline from before. He swept Nasir up in his arms, holding him close. Nasir could feel the powerful muscles in Agron’s back move under his hands, remembering more intimate times in much more confined spaces. 

Agron never did respect personal space, but Nasir was still gentle when he pulled back. He didn’t want Agron to make assumptions, when Nasir still remained firmly on the side of keeping this platonic for now. He knew his Risk-Reward options in this situation, and it wasn’t worth it for a few days a year. 

“You grew your hair out,” Agron said. His fingers curled through the ends as he laughed. “I thought you said you were going to cut it all off.” 

“Your brother cried until I agreed not to,” Nasir said. His throat felt tight as he took in a deep breath full of Agron’s scent. He smelled exactly like Nasir remembered, that combination of sweat, spice, and menthol from his aftershave. 

“Jesus, Nasir, look at you,” Agron said, almost sounding awed. 

Nasir knew he meant it, which made it all the harder when he bowed his head and worked up the courage to tell Agron sorry, but no dice. “Look, Agron—” He stopped when he heard _The Gladiators_ take the stage. “Shouldn’t you be, you know, over there in case something breaks?” 

Agron shook his head. “It’s Lugo’s gig now. Last show is my new hometown show.” 

Nasir quirked his head in confusion. “Last?” 

Agron eagerly nodded. “Yeah, I…um…got a job, sort of thing. You know Lou? Old man, runs the music store on 5th and Wilson? Well, his hands aren’t what they used to be and when I was here last week—" 

“You were here last week?” Nasir asked. That explained why Duro looked so guilty every single morning. And why he bought Nasir’s lunch for a full seven days. And the willingness to discuss buying a second hamster since the sudden disappearance of Franzie the Hammie. 

“I may have spent the past decade of my life living in van and buses, but even I know not to take an apartment without checking it out first,” Agron said. 

“Apartment?” Nasir asked. He pressed the heel of his palm into his eye where he could feel the headache forming. “You’re moving here?” 

“Well, I wouldn’t keep an apartment just for storage,” Agron said. “That would be really fucking stupid. 

"You’re moving here,” Nasir repeated. 

Agron nodded. “It was always part of the plan.” His fingers had moved up higher to trace the skin behind Nasir’s ears, perfectly finding the tattoos there. “I mean, you got to take the steps to achieve the life you want, right?” 

“I’m so fucking confused,” Nasir admitted. 

Agron looked apologetic. “I tried to call, but you sort of ignored them. And the e-mails, and look Nasir, I get why. Okay, I do. I’m an asshole sometimes—most of the time. It’s a family trait. Probably part of the official crest or some shit, but Duro said there hasn’t been anyone else since. And there hasn’t for me either and just, it’s been a goddamned lonely year, Nasir. Not just us, but I missed Duro too. And he’s not leaving this place—ever—because Auctus has that fucking Victorian-era house here and I think Duro might love it more than he even loves Auctus, and eventually they’re going to move in together, and I would move here anyway, and I don’t want that time to have been too late for us. Because you’re fucking amazing, you know that right? Like, you’re…you’re Nasir.” 

"That’s very eloquent,” Nasir said. It must’ve been a sign of how far gone they both were that Agron just nodded in agreement and Nasir knew his face had turned all fond. “We have a lot of shit to discuss, okay. Don’t assume that me not breaking your wrist right now for fondling my hair makes everything okay. I just have a headache and you have damn good hands.” 

“Of course,” Agron said. 

Nasir had never seen a person look so open, so very fucking trusting with themselves, even knowing rejection was a very real possibility. It was _Agron_ though, and whatever other issues still existed between them; one of the major ones had just been resolved. If Nasir wanted, if he tried, he felt that just maybe they could make it work—sort of. They’d probably need Duro to referee a few of the future discussions, but he’d invited himself into this mess anyway. 

“Come here,” Nasir said as he tugged Agron close. He curled his hands around the back of that strong neck, smiling into the kiss as Agron treated him like something sacred. “How’d you even know where to find me?” he murmured against Agron’s lips. 

“Aurelia,” Agron said. He leaned his forehead against Nasir and grinned. “She’s Varro’s wife." 

“Varro as in Varro the bassist?” 

“You know any other men named Varro?” Agron asked. 

Nasir dropped his head in defeat, keeping his smile secret when he felt Agron kiss the top of his head. “We’re surrounded by no-good meddlers.” 

“They just want us to be happy,” Agron murmured. 

Nasir still didn’t believe in fairy tales. Even with the rush in his blood right now, being surrounded by Agron again, his rational self knew there were hard times to come. Good ones too though, and they changed the balance of Nasir’s personal scales. Permanence was an important thing to Nasir, who liked the solid ground below his feet now more than ever. It’d be interesting though, to see how Agron fitted in their lives here in their much-beloved city. It would be an adjustment for them all, but it made Nasir more excited than anything had in a long while. 

The whole of the crowd was turned towards the stage as Gannicus’ voice howled through the mic, but Nasir couldn’t see anything beyond Agron. 

“Duro’s going to be so fucking smug, you don’t even know,” Nasir said. 

“Eh,” Agron shrugged. “I think we owe him that much.” 


End file.
